


don't look back

by ThreadSketchier



Series: Love Thy Enemy [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Everything Hurts and I'm Dying, Gallows Humor, Gen, Heavy Angst, I mean both me and Luke, Inspirational Speeches, and yet there's still time for, angst-a-palooza, capes are blankets too, this was not well thought out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreadSketchier/pseuds/ThreadSketchier
Summary: Good intentions, meet reality and consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This immediately follows "choices."

“Commander...dare I ask how you’ve managed to stretch the parameters of your mission  _ this _ time?”

A self-deprecating smile spread across Luke’s face at Admiral Ackbar’s gravel-dry tone.  “It’s quite a tale, I’ll give you that,” he replied.  “But you’re going to hear it soon anyway.”  He glanced aside at his father, still somewhat surprised that the comm didn’t pick up the sound of his respirator.  Convenient, for now.  “I...have a high-ranking defector with me.”

“Ah?  Well, this is an unprecedented occasion, after all.  Do either of you require medical attention?”

Luke winced; it had to be obvious from the lisp and strain in his voice.  Anakin’s helmet swiveled in his direction.  “...Technically, yes.  I’m not in control of this vessel, and my pilot’s sustained a limb injury.  Clearance to dock, sir?”

“General Calrissian, would you spare an escort?”

Lando’s droll voice joined their conversation.  “Luke, you’re not telling that story until my flask and I are ready to hear it.  Green Four and Seven, flank that Lambda and see her into  _ Home One _ .”  Two affirmatives answered him, and Luke saw a pair of A-wing fighters draw up alongside the shuttle.

“Thanks, Lando.”  Luke grinned, relieved to hear another friend was alive and well after the battle, his joy evident in the blatant disregard for address.  “See you aboard, Admiral.”  Signing off, he slumped back into the chair and blew out a long breath.

“ _ Technically? _ ” Anakin grated.

Luke peered back at him, waving his left hand limply.  “I have things to do first.”

“Nothing more important than healing.  We’ve delayed long enough.”

“You’re going to parent the hell out of me now, aren’t you?” Luke scoffed good-naturedly.  “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”  When Anakin remained silent after the remark, he felt a pang of regret and added softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

A few uncomfortable moments passed.  “You’re no less correct,” Anakin admitted.

The Mon Cal cruiser’s main docking bay filled their viewport, and Luke watched the dozens of techs, officers, and reserve pilots milling about slowly drop their tasks and fix their attention on the encroaching Lambda shuttle, no doubt wondering what in the worlds another one of these was doing here.  It was too soon for the  _ Tydirium _ to be reporting back, if it hadn’t been reclaimed by the Empire’s reinforcements.

Luke’s heart began to speed up again, and his palm became clammy.  They were really going to do this.  He was about to exit this ship with Darth  _ bloody _ Vader and the entire galaxy was going to tilt on its side.  Frankly, he was rather amazed that Ackbar hadn’t ordered them to reroute to another cruiser out of an abundance of caution.  Spirits must have been running high.  They probably thought he had a Moff or governor with him, a cowardly but influential leader who’d simply seen the writing on the wall and wished to join the winning side with minimal repercussions.

He almost cackled aloud.  Instead Luke rubbed his hand dry across his trouser leg and raked it through his hair, sighing.

The shuttle touched down gracefully, jets of steam billowing out from her underside.  A helmeted figure who had to be the deck officer was speaking into their comlink, likely communicating with Ackbar, while most of the other personnel in the bay had encircled the ship, hands on or near their blasters.

There was something deeply surreal about the fact that he was coming into their midst with a man who had the power to destroy them all in seconds with the barest effort and gruesome zeal.

With a sudden, sharp grief Luke thought,  _ Forgive me, Leia.  I love you both _ .

He blinked away the fear, and realized that Anakin was waiting for him.  There was no sense in putting it off any longer.  Nodding, Luke slowly pushed himself forward out of the chair and attempted to stand.

Immediately he had to clutch the backrest as his knees jellied and it felt as if every last ounce of his blood was draining into his ankles.  Silver sparks trailed across his vision and a fresh wave of nausea surged up from his stomach.  Dimly he was aware of Anakin shooting out of his seat to grab him before he pitched face-first into the deck.   _ Ah, yes, I’m so ready.  I’ve never been more ready in my life _ .

Somewhere in the middle of his near-fainting spell, Luke caught sight of a metallic glint nestled in the navigator’s chair, a familiar grooved cylinder - his lightsaber.  The lack of its weight on his belt apparently hadn’t merited his notice until then.

“Oh,” he breathed.  “So that’s where it’s been.  I should...I don’t think I should...have that with me.”

“Luke- ”

“I mean...well...you’re never unarmed even if we  _ are _ unarmed...except for now.”  Holding up his damaged prosthetic hand, he arched his brows and pointed his chin at the stump of his father’s right arm.  Anakin probably wasn’t nearly as amused at the lame joke.  With a faint chuckle he reassured him, “It’s okay, Father.  I’m gonna be okay.”

Holding him by the waist, Anakin began to walk him out of the cockpit, and Luke reached over to pick up his lightsaber on the way out.  Seeing that the access ramp was already lowered, Luke pressed his hand to his father’s chest and whispered,  “Wait.”  Leaning down a bit, he dropped the weapon onto the deck and gave it a nudge with his boot to send it rolling down the ramp ahead of them.

That was going to be a real head-scratcher for them.  It wasn’t likely to be mistaken for a stun grenade, but he should still give them a warning.  Mustering what little strength he had left, Luke shouted, “It’s just my lightsaber.  We’re unarmed.”

He was startled by an abrupt noise in his ear like a strange digitized bark; he’d felt the slight jolt of Anakin’s torso, and it hit him that his father had actually  _ laughed _ this time.  Luke sputtered in delight.  Here they were, about to be confronted with dozens of very irate and terrified soldiers and they were giggling like fools at gallows humor.

An equally silly yet poignant idea came to him.  He needed an immediate way to de-escalate the situation while making a statement about their purpose here, and he could think of nothing more effective.  “Father?  Hold me?”

Anakin considered him for a moment, then slipped his arms around his back and beneath his legs and lifted him up again.  Luke smiled at him in bittersweet mischief.

“Hi.  I’m Luke Skywalker.  You’re here to rescue me.”

He dearly wished he could see his father’s face behind the mask, and wondered if Anakin was smiling back.

They hadn’t gone two paces down the ramp before the sound of blasters being withdrawn and safeties clicked off filled the air, along with obscenities and horrified exclamations in various languages.

The respirator had to have tipped them off.  Bracing himself, Luke cried out, “Don’t shoot!  We come peaceably!  Please, whatever you do,  _ don’t shoot! _ ”  His own body was blocking most of the vulnerable areas of his father’s armor save for his head, and a full-powered blaster bolt could still carve clear through a limb, yet he kept his hand fixed over the control panel, over Anakin’s heart.

By the time they reached the end of the ramp, the silence in the bay was as profound as the vacuum of space.

Every face was wide-eyed and slack-jawed and ashen with shock, every set of arms still aiming at them but unsteady, wavering in confusion.  None of them had expected the Dark Lord to greet them on their own ship - even less were they expecting him to come walking toward them without hostility, bearing one of their heroes in his arms as a parent cradled their child.  As Anakin approached them they parted before him like a sea of grain before the plow, too astonished to make any attempt to stop him.

Luke saw that Anakin was heading in the direction of the two transport medics waiting at the back of the crowd, frozen alongside the repulsor beds they’d brought.  He looked up into the mask and planted his hand against the armor over his chest again, silently pleading for him to wait a second time.

_ Father _ , he asked him without words, hoping that his intentions were understood without a firm grasp on the Force.   _ Please strengthen me.  Let me do this for you _ .   _ And then I’ll rest _ .

At first there was nothing, and then Luke gasped as power flooded his veins, golden light behind his eyes searing not with the fires of rage but the heat of twin suns, arid and clean, singing with the voice of a thunderclap.  It washed over and through him, filling in the clefts in his spirit left behind by the Emperor’s wrath.

His feet touched the deck as Anakin let him down, and Luke found that he could stand without shaking, without having to grip his father’s arm for support.  But he held on anyway as a gesture of gratitude and solidarity.   _ Thank you _ , he thought.   _ Thank you _ .

Slowly Luke turned to face the deck officer.  Wearing the black cape like a royal mantle, he straightened his spine, looked the man dead in the eye, and said, “This is my father, Anakin Skywalker, and he’s under my protection.”

 

*

 

The only silver disk left in the blue afternoon sky was Endor itself, but Leia still found herself staring up at the spot where the second Death Star had last hung before its destruction.  Here and there flickered the bright but fleeting streaks of debris raining down through the atmosphere, a precursor to the celebratory fireworks that were likely to be dug out of storage and ignited at dusk.  They hadn’t been used since Yavin 4, and there were surely more than a few pyromaniacs eager to set them off again, especially for this encore.

The mingled stench of wood smoke, blaster ozone, and burnt flesh still wafted through the air, but the light scent of evergreen was beginning to prevail again, and Leia realized that her eyes were wet.  There was no point in restraining her grief this time, she admitted to herself, even though the war was far from over.  This was still a cleansing moment, a victory that pried apart the cage of her ribs to let her heart beat freely and her lungs expand from the icy prison she’d tried to protect them behind.

“We did it, Papá, Mamá,” she whispered into the wind, letting the tears roll down her cheeks.  “We did it.”

A gentle touch on her shoulder brought Leia back from the snowy forests of Aldera to the Sanctuary Moon, and she smiled up into Han’s concerned face.  She knew how much it startled him to see her cry, so accustomed he’d grown to her fiercely guarding her emotions, and it was rather amusing to her that she wanted to reassure him that her sadness was  _ good _ , was necessary.  She gazed at him fondly, silently chiding herself for having pushed him away for so long, relieved and almost inexpressibly happy that they were here, together, at the end - at  _ this _ end, anyway…

Her comlink buzzed, breaking the tender moment.  Of course.  Sighing in not-quite-feigned annoyance, she shook her head and answered it.  “Organa here.”

“Leia.”  A woman’s voice, grave and with an oddly dazed quality about it that instantly dropped a cold lead weight into her stomach.  “I wanted to inform you immediately.  Vader has surrendered himself into Alliance custody.”

The speaker was loud enough for Han to overhear, because the same blank shock that she felt was written on his features when their eyes met again.  “... _ What? _ ” she finally snapped after several moments.  “Wait, was Luke with him?”

“Commander Skywalker did bring him in, yes.”  A piqued wryness crept into Mon Mothma’s tone.  “His means were rather...creative.”

“Where are they?”

“Here aboard  _ Home One _ .”

She continued on, elaborating about how Luke was on his way to the war room insisting on meeting with High Command immediately, but Leia stopped listening.  Every rustle of leaves and distant birdsong and faint chatter of Ewoks going about their recollection efforts shut off into thundering silence that somehow kept time with the sudden hammering of Leia’s heart.

_ This _ .   _ This _ was why, as she’d laid contentedly beside Han beneath the Death Star’s embers, knowing that her brother was still alive, a persistent feeling of something unfinished had lingered with her.  With her awareness of the Force still so nascent, she’d believed it was simply her cynicism, the fact that there was still much to be fought and established in the coming years.  No, Vader lived still.  When Luke had last spoken to her, his eyes pleading for understanding, she’d been convinced of nothing but his walking toward death.  Never had she expected that he would return from Death and manage to bring it along with him as a tamed beast.

Vader was aboard the same ship as the entire Alliance leadership.  Vader, who had made scorched mincemeat of the  _ Tantive IV’s _ crew before they’d fled Scarif, who had single-handedly slaughtered hundreds of troops at Vrogas Vas.

And Luke had brought him straight to them.

Large hands closed around her shoulders, and a tanned face and hazel eyes filled her view.  “Leia?   _ Leia _ , look at me.”

She blinked, dimly aware of the tinny echo of Mon’s voice issuing from her comlink asking after her as well.  “We - we can’t…” Leia started, almost breathless.  “We need to get up there.  Now.”  What they could possibly do, she didn’t know yet; if this was nothing but a ploy, there was no such thing as stopping Vader.  But they couldn’t stand idly by and wait for the inevitable.  And if by some impossible chance Vader was truly subdued of murderous intent, she needed to be present for Luke’s statements.  She had to know what had happened and what in Torhu’s name Luke was thinking with this stunt.

“I’ll delegate,” Han said.  “I’ll get Kes and Chewie to cover the rest of the team for us.  There’s a few speeder bikes left; we can take one over to the landing pad.”

Leia watched Han pull out his own comlink and start barking orders into it, and though he’d barely moved it was as if the negligible space between them abruptly stretched out into kilometers, into light-years.

He had no idea.   _ No _ idea whatsoever.

She would have to tell him now, otherwise nothing would make sense.  Or he would find out from Luke himself shortly.  And then she would lose him.  She couldn’t expect him to take a burden of this nature.  That the shadow that had hunted them down and tormented them, and used him as some twisted experiment, was her  _ sire _ .

“Leia!  Do you copy?”

She’d forgotten to sign off her own comlink.  “Yes, Mon.  We’ll be there shortly.”  Han was staring at her, brow furrowed in concern.  Despite the warmth of the day Leia felt so terribly cold, desperate to spring into action yet rooted to the ground in horror.

“Leia…” Han reached for her cautiously.  “I know you didn’t want to talk last night, but you can talk to me now.”

She wanted to shake her head but not even her neck would move.  In her mind’s eye clouds of steam roiled around them, and cruel armored hands pulled them apart.  Vader wasn’t her father, he wasn’t  _ anything _ to her but a nightmare, but he would take Han away from her all over again.

“Luke didn’t go off to confront Vader just as a distraction, or because it was his trial as a Jedi,” Leia finally replied, the words falling from her lips like a trickle of acid.  “He’s his  _ son _ .  He...he wanted to... _ save _ him,” she spat, a curse in spirit if not in syllable.

If she thought Han had been confused by the revelation of her sibling relationship, she’d been sorely mistaken.  Leia hadn’t known it was possible for that many expressions to cross a face all at once in the span of a few seconds.

“Wait.  So...if Luke’s your brother...and Wheezy’s his old man...that makes him your…?”

Leia didn’t even bother to nod, not wanting to acknowledge it.

Slowly Han’s hands came to rest on his hips, and a pained, crooked smile stretched his mouth, and he swallowed as if he’d just had to choke down a very dry, stale ration  _ and _ a blistering insult.

“ _ Well _ ,” he coughed out.  “Makes one hell of a father-in-law, I’ll say that.”

She almost missed it.  Almost.  Then Leia’s breath was leaving her in a rush, his quip hitting her square in the solar plexus, and Han was in her space, gripping her shoulders again tightly, the heat of his breath insistent in her ear.  “You’re not him,” he hissed.

“Han- ”

“Neither of you is.  You got that?  You remember that prince and queen?  Bail and Breha?  Those two who wiped your ass and your nose and listened to you cry your little lungs out and turned you into who you are now?   _ That’s _ your pa and your ma.  Not this bastard.  And damned if I’m gonna let the two of you live alone with this.”

He pressed his lips to her hairline and crushed her in his arms, a vehement promise against her silent protest, and Leia could only resist for another moment before she let herself wilt into his embrace, his acceptance.

There was no time for them to spare, and certainly no time to contemplate what he’d just vowed, but it was enough.  She didn’t know what was about to happen, what she was going to say to Luke or High Command or Vader himself, but  _ this _ , then - this much she could count on.  This much she could still hold onto, and she would never let go again.

“Okay,” she murmured into Han’s chest.  “Okay, hotshot.  Let’s go find my idiot brother.”

Han turned to run, taking her hand and pulling her with him.  “And remind him he’s not allowed to bring home a pet rancor and ask if he can keep it!”


	2. Chapter 2

“Commander, we can’t in good conscience debrief you in this condition,” Mon Mothma declared softly, her already weary face blanching at the sight of Luke the moment he’d walked in the room.

“Then don’t consider this a debriefing.”  The edge of the holotable bit into Luke’s thighs as he leaned against it for support.  It was fitting, he thought sadly, that it stood between him and the Alliance leadership, physically separating him from them.  The room was even more packed than it had been for the briefing before the battle, non-essential personnel having invited themselves along for the spectacle.  No one had the motivation to shut them out.  He’d never felt so lonely in a crowd since the party after the medal ceremony on Yavin 4.  “I’m here to speak on my father’s behalf.”

Present via hologram, General Dodonna interjected, in a tone that brooked anything but disagreement, “For all our sakes, I highly suggest that you see to yourself first, Commander, as Vader’s compliance is surely dependent on the continued health of his morality pet.”

Indignation blazed forth from his core into his limbs and face with all the fury of a solar flare, but Luke held back from releasing it; his anger was valid but their reactions were expected.  There would be no welcome for an enemy above all enemies, save for the Emperor himself.

Unless, of course, he was  _ useful _ .

Lifting his chin defiantly, Luke replied, “I guess it would be, considering that he killed the Emperor himself to save my life.”

A heavy quiet descended upon the chamber, broken only by the faint static of the holograms.  “The Emperor was already dead before - ?” Mothma began to ask.

“Yes.  I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for him.”

“Just barely,” General Madine muttered with an unimpressed scowl.

Luke let his nostrils flare as he exhaled, displaying that much of his frustration, but he knew he would win no one with open belligerence.  His superiors were still his allies, still his people, as much as they couldn’t begin to comprehend what he’d witnessed and felt.

Briefly, he locked eyes with Mothma and the hologram of General Rieekan, and was both encouraged and somewhat ashamed by the sympathy he found there.  Now, he could see, they understood the change he’d undergone after Bespin, and why he’d been so reluctant and fearful to speak of it.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he directed at the two of them.  “By omission, at least.  I would’ve been compromised, and...I didn’t even want to believe it when he told me.  It took me a long time to accept it.”

“And what exactly prompted that acceptance, Commander?” Ackbar asked.  “When you returned from your encounter less a hand and, if I may be frank, some of your sanity?  You owed him nothing.  He forfeited any claim on you the moment he took up the mantle of a Dark Lord.”  The genuine curiosity and defensiveness in his grating voice softened the otherwise insensitive query.

Luke answered with a question of his own.  “Do any of you remember Anakin Skywalker?”  When no response was immediately forthcoming, he pressed, “Some of you must.  Tell me what you knew of him.”

He watched Ackbar and Mothma exchange a look with each other before the admiral reluctantly offered, “I fought alongside him in the Battle of Mon Cala, in defense of the crown prince and against the Separatists.  General Skywalker was one of the most courageous and brilliant Jedi of the last age, if at times a bit unorthodox.  It...was an honor to serve with him.”

Mothma was pensive before giving her own testimony.  “I would be remiss to say that I knew him well, but he...often worked closely with my fellow associate, Senator Amidala.  As accomplished a warrior as he was, he was also greatly compassionate, dedicated to helping anyone in need, beyond the boundaries of his orders.  Loyalty and selflessness were some of his strongest traits.”  A faint smile touched her lips, and she regarded Luke with admiration.  “In that sense, I would say you are very much your father’s son.”

Luke bowed his head, his grip on the holotable tightening as his throat closed and his eyes filled.  When he could bring himself to look up at them again, he said, “Then we all need to ask ourselves: what drove this man to evil?  What went wrong?  He was a man like us, a good man who fought for what was right, a man who  _ loved _ .”  His voice rose as his convictions strengthened.  “Because he loved, I exist, and I’m still here after facing the Emperor, and he no longer has to call anyone ‘Master.’”

Quickly he realized how that last statement probably didn’t follow for everyone else present, so he elaborated, “This is why I’m here.  I’m going to be out of commission for days, at least, and I won’t know what’s going on and what you’ll ask of my father in the meantime.”  An estimate of  _ days _ was being optimistic.  Even with bacta, for the burns alone he would surely be sedated, and with the additional nerve damage and prosthetic replacement it would probably be a good couple of weeks before anyone would even consider allowing him out of sick bay.

Sweat was trickling down past his temples, uncontrollable tremors that had started in his legs were working their way up his back and into his arms, and his heart was pounding hard enough to sicken him.  Despite the power Anakin had lent him to keep him afloat, there was a distant, creeping sense of  _ wrongness _ that denoted his body was failing him.  But he’d already come this far, and this was his last chance to say anything in his father’s defense.

His reasoning raised many eyebrows, but Luke continued, “I know how much of an asset he’ll be to you, and I don’t think he’ll refuse you anything.  He’s not…”  He trailed off, struggling to conceive of how to describe Anakin’s mindset.  The will to  _ serve _ was there, but the will to live…

“He intended to die aboard the Death Star.  All he wanted was to see me off safely.”

Luke let that sink in, giving his audience time to consider his words and silently deliberate amongst themselves.  After half a minute Rieekan replied, “We can’t discount General Skywalker’s merits, or the fact that he disposed of the Emperor, but neither can we ignore his crimes as Darth Vader.  He was a traitor to his own brethren and helped exterminate them himself, to say nothing of what he’s done to enforce the Empire’s brutality.  This is a difficult situation that can’t be resolved in a day, let alone a few minutes.  But if you’re concerned that we would hold a tribunal in your absence, Commander, rest assured we’re not about to repay Vader in kind as he would have once dealt with us, much as many here would prefer it.”

That reassurance, while deeply appreciated, was still not exactly what Luke was seeking.  He turned his gaze aside to Madine.  “General...how many lives did you take in the Empire before you defected?  How many lives will you need to save and liberate through the Alliance before you’ve repaid your debts?”

Madine’s jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened, but he knew he was being asked a pointed rhetorical question.  Luke shook his head minutely, fingers digging into the holotable’s casing at the threat of dizziness the movement caused.  “It’s not that simple, is it?  That’s not how this works.

“For all the vile things he’s done, my father has also suffered greatly, even before he became a Jedi or a Sith.”  For a moment Luke hesitated, knowing how shameful it was to expose something this private and painful, but it had never been Anakin’s fault.  The shame lay upon the perpetrators and anyone who turned a blind eye to their trade.  “He was once a slave, as a child.  That’s something you don’t forget, or don’t easily unlearn.  Sometimes even when the chains are broken, they leave marks behind.  Or they’re never really broken at all.”

Mothma’s countenance was stricken, and the other members of High Command all glanced at each other or frowned in various degrees of surprise and discomfort.  The thought of the Jedi Order’s greatest champion coming from such lowly and troubled circumstances was obviously unknown and scandalous.

“When he killed the Emperor, he not only spared me, he also freed himself.  I don’t yet know what led him to the Dark Side, but I don’t think his heart’s been in it all these years, not fully.  I know that may sound trite considering everything he’s done, but if he was truly that far gone, he wouldn’t have made the right choice in the end.”  Luke stared intently at Dodonna.  “My teachers prepared me to kill him by withholding the truth of his identity.”

“General Kenobi?” Rieekan asked skeptically.

“Yes, and...Yoda.”  Luke had to remind himself that he could say that name aloud now, and that he would never think of him as  _ Master _ again either, as much as he still respected both of his mentors.  He flashed a brittle, shaky smile.  “It’s pretty ironic that Vader wasn’t the one who lied to me.”

“Be that as it may,” Dodonna insisted, “there are countless other beings, many among us, who have endured such indignities and injustices without inflicting them upon others in gross vengeance.  This is no excuse, Commander.”

“No, it’s not.  In fact, my father would agree with you.  He would want justice enacted upon him, since he didn’t find it at my hand.”  Luke swept his eyes across every face in his view, not only those of High Command, but anyone else in his periphery.  “But tell me, all of you, how much more suffering will repair anything he’s done?  He’s already been in a prison of his own body for over twenty years.  You can kill him, but it won’t bring back a single life he took.  You can shut him up in a cell - if you can find one you think will hold him - and let him rot there, but what kind of hope is that?”

Carefully he pivoted to address some of those gathered behind him.  “Isn’t that what we’re fighting for?  Not just to destroy something terrible, but to heal the galaxy we’re breaking apart to free?  If Anakin Skywalker can come back from a place no one believed he ever could, why not let him be restored too?”

“ _ Luke! _ ”

 

*

 

Han rounded the last corner and sprinted down the corridor as far as he could go before hitting a sea of bodies blocking the doorway to the war room, then elbowed his way through them until he could finally see inside and bellowed, “ _ Luke! _ ”

The young man’s slight figure was almost lost in a massive swath of black fabric that looked like he’d stolen the Emperor’s draperies.  Flinching, startled at the shout, Luke whipped his head around and swayed drunkenly; when their eyes met he was starkly afraid for a fraction of a second, but then he smiled that beautiful, unabashed smile he’d given so freely as a greenhorn farmboy - that smile that had walked away from Han on Hoth, before it all went to hell.

He barely felt Leia bump into his back, too transfixed in horror at seeing what state Luke was left in.  His face was ashen and bisected with a vivid, branching red burn that traveled down his neck into his collar, and even at a distance it was obvious that his bionic hand was damaged, the fingers gnarled and locked into an unnatural position.

Still grinning, Luke made a move as if to come up to meet them, but his step faltered and he had to remain clinging to the holotable.  Like a human battering ram Han barreled his way down the steps to the pit, but as he reached out Luke was the one who grabbed him first in a fierce hug, the heavy black cloth falling away from him.  Burying his face in Han’s shoulder, Luke whispered roughly, “Glad you could make it.”

“Luke, what the hell is this?  What are you  _ doing _ here?”  He could feel Luke trembling and his cheek was cold and clammy where it touched his neck.  “Vader’s not worth your time or your life!”

Luke pulled back just enough to look him in the eye and said wryly, “Nice to see you too, Han.”

“As  _ charming _ as this reunion is,” Ackbar interrupted, “we requested Princess Leia’s presence here as a member of our council.  Commander Skywalker, if you would give a brief summary of your argument?  And I emphasize,  _ brief _ .”

Apart from his shaking, Luke went very still in Han’s arms, staring at Leia over his shoulder.  Han turned around just enough to have them both in his sight.  Leia’s eyes were wide and her face nearly as pale as Luke’s, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“Leia…” Luke rasped.  “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, very slowly, Leia shook her head and lifted her arms as if to take her own turn embracing him, evidently not paying a shred of attention to her fellow council members or the rest of the crowd; brother and sister were in their own little world clouded in relief and sorrow.

Abruptly Han was keenly aware of Luke’s jagged, labored breathing, and how he was going limp in his grasp.  Alarmed, Han glanced at him and saw that his eyes were too glassy, too unfocused, his lips colorless.  There was a moment of lucid recognition, a rueful twist of his mouth, and then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he crumpled.

Gasps and soft exclamations of dismay rippled around the war room as Han quickly but gently lowered Luke to the floor on top of the pooled black cape, along with one loud shout of, “Clear a path, people!” and rapid footfalls down the stairs.

As soon as Luke was flat on his back, Han’s blood froze; he’d seen more than enough dead guys to know what agonal respiration looked like.

“Shit,” he breathed.  “ _ Shit _ .”

 

*

 

“Your attention is unnecessary.”

The rangy young woman with plain, bird-like features and far too many lines around her eyes for someone her age scowled up into Anakin’s mask.  “Trust me,  _ Lord _ Vader, we don’t need  _ more _ motivation not to treat you.”

The medic had accompanied him to the brig - apparently leaving him in sick bay near the most vulnerable members of the Rebellion had been too unseemly a notion, and Anakin was not about to argue with them.  He was not in any pain he did not regularly experience, and there was no immediate need to have his full mobility restored.  Impatience and resentment simmered beneath his indifference at being examined while his son should have been the one already receiving care.

“Without access to my records, this is an exercise in futility - ”

“ _ Quiet! _ ” the woman snapped, and Anakin complied with a mixture of irritable amusement that she had the spine to do so.  The tension in her frame betrayed her nervousness at having been assigned such a daunting task, but she was otherwise beyond caring.  With a loud exasperated sigh she gave up and dropped her medisensor to make some adjustments, as she’d realized that its standard settings were not going to penetrate his armor and suit.

Beneath the mask Anakin allowed himself a smug half-smile; he could have made that suggestion earlier, but that would make things  _ easier _ , of course.

Bringing the medisensor back up, she began a slow sweep of his forearm stump, then stalled.  The frown knitting her brows gradually shifted from anger to confusion, then to disbelief and a dawning horror as the device’s readout picked up more results from his upper arm and torso, well beyond her focus.

“This...these prosthetics…”  Her eyes kept darting back and forth between him and the medisensor’s screen.  “The quality is deplorable.  Where are the sensory…?  The wiring…”  She was actually beginning to look more upset  _ for _ his sake rather than at him.  Almost scoffing incredulously, she added, “You have active necrosis.”

“A regular inconvenience.  I am...somewhat overdue for a debridement.”

“For injuries of this age?” she asked, outraged.  “How are you…?”  Stunned into silence, she stared straight into his lenses for a good minute before taking a step back and covering her mouth with a hand.  After several more moments of livid contemplation she crossed her arms and said, “You weren’t weighed, but I’d venture you’re close to or more than 130 kilos, from your size and all this nonsense.”  She waved a hand to indicate his armor.  “With your remaining bone density, I don’t know how you still manage to stand, let alone be a sentient weapon of mass destruction.  Or how you’re not already septic.  What’s holding you together, space tape and spite?”

A grin pulled at the scar tissue across his jaw and cheekbones.  “You are  _ mostly _ correct, Lieutenant.”

“Who authorized these augmentations?  Did  _ you? _ ”

“...No.”   _ My master _ , he almost said, until he remembered himself.  “The Emperor...oversaw my reconstruction and maintenance.”

There was an utter lack of surprise at that statement, and he was expecting satisfaction that he had suffered the consequences for his hubris and reprehensible acts.  But there was only a vacant disappointment and perhaps a morbid wonder at his pathetic existence.  Her tired eyes were drawn to his chest, no doubt to the blinking control panel, and she held up the medisensor one last time, fixing it over his core.

He had killed men for catching even the barest glimpse of him unarmored or wounded; only a select few had ever been allowed to see him at his lowest - although he could hardly think of it as a choice when a contingent of the Emperor’s own Royal Guards had been stationed at his wretched abode on Mustafar.  But he no longer felt offense at this intimate scrutiny.  It told her all that she, that  _ they _ , needed to know.

This token of charity was pointless.

“It would be a mercy to end your life,” she declared softly.  Sadly, almost.

Reaching out with his left hand, he touched the edge of the medisensor, avoiding her fingers, but there was still the slightest hint of a flinch.  He pushed her arm down gently, away from him.  “Yes.  It would be,” he agreed.

There was someone, however, who would very much object to that.

His mother and Padmé he had loved, but he had walked away from the former to grant her heart’s desire and sold his soul for the latter in a misguided bid to keep her alive.  Obi-Wan...he had also loved, and never measured up to.  Ahsoka had left him behind in her grief, and when she had returned, it was too late.  Palpatine -  _ Sidious _ \- had been a dear friend, a kindly grandfather and trusted confidant, until he’d shed his skin and shown himself for the viper he truly was.  But his life had always in some measure been defined by service, both willing and unwilling.  Everyone looked for  _ something _ to their advantage.

Then came Luke.  Luke, burning bright in his defiance and audacious faith.  Luke, who understood.  Luke, who deserved the stars when all he could give him was ash and regrets, but insisted on treasuring him.

For his son, he  _ had _ to live.  In truth, it was anything but merciful, to continue existing in a galaxy he’d oppressed just as he himself had once been.  That should have assuaged his guilt somewhat.  Yet living untethered from pretense and appeasement was a challenge he almost couldn’t quantify.

He had wanted his lost child more than anything.  Now that he had him, to the fullest extent possible...he didn’t know what to do about  _ that _ .

“There are more pressing needs than this,” Anakin said, breaking the morose silence between them.  “Including my son.  If you rejoin your partner, perhaps the two of you may succeed in dragging him away from his grandstanding.”

The lieutenant’s mouth twitched upwards, reluctant to be amused at his sarcasm but unable to suppress it entirely.  “Nothing a shot of void milk can’t do,” she replied.  With more uncertainty, she studied her medisensor one last time before shutting it off.  “I’ll...put in a recommendation for a full assessment - ”

And then he felt it, a sickening snap at the back of his mind like a severed tendon.  Momentarily stunned, Anakin reached for the familiar warmth of Luke’s presence and found only a cold hollow.

“No…” he moaned aloud, lurching blindly to his feet.  “ _ No! _ ”  If only the stubborn boy had listened to him, if only he’d  _ listened _ -

“Vader!”  Eyes wild with fear, the medic jumped back away from him, hand instinctively closing around her small defensive sidearm but not drawing it; surely she knew how useless it would be against him.  He made a fist and the door to the cell buckled like flimsi, sparks flying from the outer control panel.

In sheer desperation the woman screamed, “ _ Anakin! _ ”

Amidst blaring alarms and approaching shouts, he stopped and looked aside at her.  A separate emergency alert shrieked from her comlink, no doubt coming from the war room, but she made no move to respond or silence it.  Even through his garish lenses he could tell she was pallid with terror and shaking, yet she summoned the will to ask, “What can  _ you _ possibly do?”

Padmé’s and his mother’s cries echoed from the deep well of memory.   _ Nothing _ was the only true answer.  Sidious’s tantalizing promise had been a cruel lie, and in this regard the Force could do no miracles, not even wielded in virtue.

“Be with him,” Anakin growled, seizing her by the wrist, and stormed out into the corridor.

 

*

 

Han didn’t even bother checking for a pulse; in an instant he had his vibroblade out, though not switched on, and was roughly tugging Luke’s tunic free of his belt and trousers to cut the garment open and leave his chest exposed.

As soon as he’d done so, Han almost wished he hadn’t.

Lacy patterns like river deltas viewed from the sky crisscrossed Luke’s skin in colors ranging from deep pinks and reds to yellow-purple, spattered with blisters and the charred spots of entrance and exit wounds.  Not even the scan grid at Cloud City had left behind injuries like this.

A solid  _ thunk _ landing next to him shook Han out of his stupor, and he found Leia staring back at him not only with a mixture of shock and fear, but pure indignation, as if she was outraged by the very thought that Luke would dare die so soon after coming back to them.

Of course, if anyone could scare the life back into the dead, it would have to be Leia Organa.

From across the room Mon Mothma’s voice suddenly rang out in sharp reproof, “Everyone, back to your stations!  This is not an exhibition!”  Over the organized thunder of the crowd’s footsteps quickly exiting the scene she added, “General Dodonna, General Rieekan, you’re dismissed.  We’ll reconvene later.”  With terse, solemn nods their two holograms dissipated.

Beside Han, the medic who had arrived already had her medpac mostly broken down in seconds.  She was a sturdy, middle-aged woman with hyperspace streaks of silver shot through her black hair and an air of exasperation beneath her professional calm.  If she’d been standing nearby the entire time - and no doubt that she had, for her to appear instantly - she must have been terribly impatient with Luke’s stalling.   _ Now _ she had her work cut out for her.

“Lift him,” she ordered, and Han grabbed Luke’s right shoulder and arm while Leia took his left side, and together they hoisted his upper body off the floor long enough for the medic to secure a broad padded band around his chest and back.  With a few taps on its flat front interface, it abruptly cinched itself tight around Luke and began to constrict at a rapid pace, administering compressions.  Not waiting for the medic to begin securing his airway, Leia already had Luke’s head tilted back and was timing herself against the band to deliver rescue breaths.

“Where’s your pit crew?” Han asked, desperate to assist but knowing he was mostly out of his depth here.  “And what’s your name, Captain?”

“We’re short-staffed.  First ship the Death Star took out was the  _ Redemption _ .  And it’s Rialo.”  Digging her defibrillator from the medpac, she split apart the small clamshell-shaped device and pressed its two halves down onto Luke’s chest, straddling the compression band.  “Both of you will want to get clear here in a second.”

Leia sat back on her haunches and shouted at the remainder of High Command, “Why did you allow him to speak like this?  He should have been - ”

“As opposed as we were to this situation, far be it from us to deny anyone a fair hearing,” Mothma countered firmly.  “Or would you have preferred that we silence him by force against his will?  Recall, Leia, that you delayed your own medical assessment before the briefing at Yavin 4.”

Leia fell momentarily speechless that Mothma would throw that back in her face.  When she recovered her wits she retorted, “You  _ can’t _ compare - ”

The defibrillator beeped loudly and fired, interrupting them, and Han held his breath.

_ Don’t do this, Luke.  C’mon, gimme a sign here! _

Luke’s body slackened after the shock, and remained as still as ever around the band’s relentless motion.

Off in the distance Han could hear the piercing wail of alarms, and a red alert suddenly blazed from the holotable; a taut voice over the PA system announced a prison break, something about Vader being on the loose, and all Han could manage to think was  _ now  _ that _ wasn’t news _ , of course nothing could keep the Empire’s hellhound penned up for long.  None of the chaos touched him, nothing but Leia’s silent, seething despair as she had to watch the last of her family fade away before her eyes.

“Your Highness, General,” Rialo implored, rousing them from their miserable reverie, “are either of you versed in any degree of emergency aid?  Because he could use less arguing and more help until my support arrives.”

Basic field aid had been a part of his training as an Imperial cadet another lifetime ago, but the kind of medical knowledge Han was more familiar with was the back alley sort - enough to keep one going after a close scrape until a real doc, legal or not, could be reached.  Even so, as he saw Rialo pulling a bag valve mask and oxygen concentrator from her medpac, he knew that securing Luke’s airway was the next priority, so he whipped off his vest and rolled it to serve as a makeshift pillow beneath the curve of Luke’s neck.  Taking his cue, Leia tucked some of the black cloth beneath him under his shoulders.  It occurred to Han that while whatever they were doing seemed paltry, any contribution kept them functionally distracted from their grief and anger, something that was likely deliberate on Rialo’s part.

The defib gave its next warning alert and discharged.  Again, there was no obvious effect; Han realized the flat tone that came afterwards signaled failure and another recharge.  With a gesture for them to move aside, Rialo took Leia’s place at Luke’s head to begin ventilating him, wrapping a broad hand around his jaw to lift it in place before she sealed the mask against his face and began depressing the bag.

When Han bothered to cast his gaze around the room again, he saw that Madine was gone.  Mothma had probably delegated him to rounding up Vader, as futile as that was.  Han’s fists tightened until his knuckles creaked.   _ Let Vader come _ , he thought,  _ I’ll die trying to rip that exhaust grill off his face with my own bare hands _ .

It took thirty seconds for a compact defib to reset.  Thirty seconds that felt like eternity.  Han glared down at Luke, lifeless and blue, tears stinging his eyes.

_ No, Luke _ .   _ You don’t get to do this to us.  You don’t come back and waste your last breath on that scum-sucking scrap heap _ .

Again the defib sounded, preparing to fire a third shock.  Protected by insulated gloves, Rialo had no need to release her hold on Luke and step back.  Although she showed no indication of giving up yet, there was already resignation in her dark eyes from all her years of experience.

Han’s fingers found Leia’s and twined with them.   _ You made Leia cry, you know that?  You’ve gotta pay for that.  And you’re sure as hell not doing it again _ .

Again Luke’s chest convulsed, and Han felt as if his own heart stopped along with his.

It wasn’t fair.  From his childhood Han had already concluded this about the universe, and yet somehow it never failed to disappoint him all over again.  It wasn’t fair for Vader to live and Luke to die.

This time the defib issued a high double-tone, its indicator lights winking from blue to red, and Rialo’s eyebrows lifted slightly in optimism.  “Did...did it work?” Han asked, almost in a whisper, as if daring to hope would chase away the possibility.

Abruptly the compression band halted and loosened of its own accord, and Han noticed the red light on the defib blinking in a pattern, unsteady at first but easing into a quick and regular rhythm, that matched the pulse oximeter clipped to Luke’s finger.  His eyes remained closed but his chest began to move with an awkward, shallow heaving not in tandem with the careful ventilation Rialo was still managing as he started to breathe on his own.

Immediately Han sagged onto his backside, shaky and exhausted with relief.  Clumsily he wrapped an arm around Leia and hugged her tightly against him.

With a rustle of robes Mothma approached, also dropping to her knees and casting a somber gaze over Luke.  She reached out to grasp Leia’s shoulder, and for a moment Han thought Leia would shrug or push her away in anger, but she allowed the touch, and Mothma rubbed her back in gentle reassurance.  Behind them all stood Ackbar leaning against the holotable, looking grieved and worn with stress.

“I suppose I should have expected him to pull through,” Rialo remarked with a slight smile, obviously trying to lift the mood.  “He’s a Skywalker, after all.”

Loud footsteps resounding like turbolaser cannons approached the war room, and everyone’s heads rose to see Darth Vader standing in one of the doorways, with another breathless and red-faced medic in tow, surrounded by dozens of very distressed Mon Cal crewers, Alliance soldiers, and one infuriated General Madine, all with blasters held ready but otherwise at a loss for what to do.

Mothma raked her eyes up and down Vader’s imposing figure and said, almost to herself, “Like his father before him.”

Han saw a visceral flash in Rialo’s eyes, something haunted and hateful, but she wasn’t about to take any more of her attention away from Luke on whatever she wished to say or do in Vader’s presence.  Beside him he felt Leia stiffen, and all he wanted to do was shield her, send her as far away from Vader as possible, but he knew they were just as helpless as they’d been when the trap was sprung at Cloud City.

Rather absentmindedly Vader let go of the young medic’s wrist; as soon as she was free she nearly collided with the repulsor gurney waiting on standby before stumbling her way down the stairs to join her partner.  Still panting for breath, she muttered, “There isn’t enough alcohol in the galaxy for this day.”

“I know of a few nebulas that might satisfy your need, but you’ll have to distill them yourself,” Rialo replied.  “But that’s for later, Anj.  I need a line started.”

“Right.”  Nodding and clenching her hands to settle herself, Anjylle began pawing through the medpac for IV supplies.

Mothma had risen to her feet and seemed ready to approach Vader, but something seized Han and compelled him to stand in her way and advance on the Dark Lord himself.  It was far too strange, and too perfect an opportunity, to see the armored hulk apparently frozen in indecision and, perhaps, Han hoped, shame.  A pity the mask hid his face.

“How do you like it now,” Han began in a low snarl as he made his way up the steps, until he was close enough to see his own reflection in those bulging lenses.  “You  _ sonavabitch _ .  How does it feel to almost lose somebody  _ you _ care about, huh?”

Over Vader’s shoulder Madine was eyeing Han with an urge to caution, surely assuming that one wrong move would set the Sith off and end them all.  Too late - it was all in or nothing.

“Welcome to hell, Vader,” Han hissed, the front of his shirt nearly brushing against the control panel on Vader’s torso.  “Because that’s what we’re gonna make for you.”

Quick as his own draw the black gauntlet shot up and grabbed him by the throat.  Every blaster in the corridor aimed at Vader, but rather than closing his grip and crushing, he merely hurled Han aside into the bulkhead.  Seeing stars and coughing, Han didn’t regret his recklessness one iota; he had his satisfaction at getting the exact rise out of Vader that he’d counted on.

“I assure you, Captain Solo,” Vader rumbled, “I am well acquainted with my home.”

“Lord Vader!” Ackbar exclaimed from inside the war room.  “Or should I say...General Skywalker.”

Madine and another soldier helped Han back to his feet, and he glowered at the side of Vader’s helmet as if he could bore a hole through it with his sheer vision.

“We have accepted your surrender in good faith on Commander Skywalker’s terms,” Ackbar continued frostily, “and while provocation from our forces is neither wise nor helpful, you will do your son no favors with this behavior.  He suffered these injuries in your custody, and we will give him the best care we can afford.”

Han savored the sight of Vader cowed into bitter silence, especially the almost imperceptible drop of his shoulders.  Ackbar would chew him out for his stupidity later, but it was worthwhile.  Shrugging off any further support from Madine, he made his way back down into the pit.  If Vader wanted to hover, then he and Leia would stay even closer, making the ordeal as uncomfortable for the big lunk as possible.

Luke was still pale, but he’d pinked up a little now that he’d been revived.  The bagged mask was replaced by a lightweight, flexible standard breath mask, and he’d been rolled onto his left side in a recovery position.  His bloodshot eyes were open and roving around the room aimlessly, and Leia was stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort to soothe him while Rialo and Anjylle continued tending to him.

When Luke’s eyes fell on Han there was a spark of awareness that made them linger.  Han crouched down and reassured him, “Hey, it’s okay.  You’re gonna be alright.”

Slowly Luke tucked in his chin to peer at the mess of his exposed torso and the equipment still stuck to him.  As he shifted his head back up, the pinky and thumb of his left hand curled together, leaving three fingers straight that he brandished weakly.

Han frowned, not comprehending.  One corner of Luke’s mouth twitched, and from beneath the mask his lips carefully formed the words,  _ Owe you _ .

Blinking in disbelief, Han shook his head.  Evidently Luke’s brain was working better than his at the moment.  “I ain’t keeping count anymore, kid.”

 

*

 

Leia kept a tight grip on Luke’s left hand as she strode alongside his gurney on their way to sick bay, determined not to leave him until she absolutely had to.  Somewhere far behind them Vader trailed like a shadow; there was really no other place for him to be, since confinement was pointless.

No walls or binders could hold him, but the mere presence of her and Han was enough to keep him at bay, so she could take some small, cold consolation in that.

Luke’s fingers squeezed hers, and he made a soft noise muffled by the breath mask.  “You don’t have to speak anymore, Luke,” she urged him.  “Save your strength and rest.”

“No, Leia,” he insisted, clear enough for her to understand him this time.  When she looked directly at him, the intensity of his gaze constrained her to listen.

“Padmé.  Our mother’s name was Padmé.”

Leia’s steps almost faltered, briefly making her forget that she needed to keep moving to stay with him.   _ Padmé _ .  In a galaxy of quadrillions, any name could be repeated, but in her heart Leia knew there could only be one woman who held it and lay behind Luke’s intent.  Senator Amidala, a dear friend and close confidant of both her father and Chancellor Mothma.  The former queen and modern myth of Naboo, the legend and soul of the Alliance and patron of the oppressed.  The tragic heroine and role model she had sought to live up to as a young girl, by her father’s fond and mournful remembrance.  The beautiful, kind, and sad woman of her childhood dreams, veiled in a cloud of shining brown curls and crystalline waves.

And Luke was giving her this as a parting gift, making contingencies as if he anticipated that he wasn’t going to survive.

She wanted to reject it soundly, both on the grounds that Luke  _ would _ live to tell her anything else she needed to know and the sheer ludicrous notion that Amidala had involved herself with the man who became Darth Vader.  Suddenly the circumstances of her mysterious death grew far more ominous.

Had Vader been the one who killed her?  It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for a man depraved enough to mutilate his own son.

Without their fateful union, she and Luke would have never existed, but all Leia could bring herself to think was,  _ Oh, Padmé, why?  What possessed you? _

Han was giving her a quizzical, anxious look.  “Hush, Luke,” Leia replied tersely, “you can tell me everything later.”

“Father...let me see him,” Luke asked.

Han rolled his eyes.  “Kid, you’ve dragged this out long enough.”

“Please.”

A very specific grimace scrunched Han’s face, the one that meant his better judgment was barve-tied and stowed in the  _ Falcon’s _ smuggling compartments at the mercy of Luke’s plaintive plea.  “Dammit, Luke, make it quick.”

“Sixty seconds or I’m inducing you now,” Anjylle warned him.  Turning, she shouted down the corridor, “ _ Vaderkin _ , you’re being summoned.”

They slowed to a stop, the infirmary in sight a few dozen meters away.  Still surrounded by an armed escort in a vain show of security - he might as well have been guarded by a fleet of mouse droids - Vader approached their group with a swift gait that managed to have none of the arrogant menace he usually conveyed.

As soon as he came in sight a smile broke out on Luke’s face, weak but joyful, and Leia felt her skin crawling and her heart breaking for him all at once.  This was probably meant to be a private moment between them but she refused to step aside, as did Han.

Prying his fingers from her grasp, Luke reached up to pull the mask down from his face so that he could speak freely; both Anjylle and Vader immediately tried to grab it, but Luke’s hand wedged itself between them and wrapped around Vader’s, catching and holding it in reassurance.

“Father…”  He gazed steadily into Vader’s mask.  “You saved me.  You saved us both.  Nothing changes that.  Don’t ever forget who you are.”  There was an enigmatic tenderness in his eyes.  “No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.”

As soon as Luke released Vader’s hand Rialo pulled the breath mask back into place, and she and Anjylle began to jog down the corridor, pushing the repulsor gurney toward the trauma bay.  Watching them, Leia felt as though part of her own body had been ripped away.

For all that she’d tried to silence him, she couldn’t help feeling spurned.  Luke’s last words hadn’t been for her, but for Vader.

She perceived Han’s arm encircling her back and the warmth of his flank, but she was numb - until a single word pierced through the bleak haze.

“Leia.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  Always,  _ always _ had he called her  _ Princess _ ,  _ Senator _ ,  _ Your Highness _ .  Never  _ Leia _ .

How dare he.  How  _ dare _ he even attempt to lay any claim to her.

The blood was rushing to her face, and Han had to have felt the sudden rigidity in her posture, the tension in every muscle in her body, for he distanced himself slightly, looking down at her in equal measures of outrage and concern.

She turned slowly on one heel and uttered, low and deadly, “Leave us.”  When Han balked and the escort stared back at her in consternation she roared, “Leave us  _ now! _ ”  Without further question every soldier and crewer fled, retreating down the corridor, and Han scrambled away toward the infirmary.

The two of them were left alone, and Leia was no longer afraid.

 

*

 

Anakin realized his mistake the moment his breath and tongue had formed the word and his vocoder amplified it.

He knew better than to believe she would ever accept him as a father, but he could no longer bring himself to think of her as mere royalty or even a worthy adversary.  Her pain now wounded him as deeply as his own.  Now, though, she was a predator catching the blood-laden scent of his weakness.

“ _ Lord Vader _ ,” she announced softly, the words drawn out and dripping with contempt.   _ Lord of nothing _ , they emphasized.  Her large eyes were as dark as the abyss.  “How  _ thoughtful _ of you to show me such... _ consideration _ .”

Leia advanced upon him with slow, purposeful steps.  “How  _ considerate _ you were in my detention cell with a torture droid and your relentless questioning.  How  _ tenderly _ you held me while I watched as Tarkin destroyed my home.”  Her voice threatened to break, but she swallowed and breathed in sharply, sheer loathing fueling her resolve.  “How  _ kindly _ you used us to lure Luke and forced me to watch your twisted experiment before you sold Han off to the cesspit of the galaxy.”

In the Force, her wrath burned hotter than the flames that had consumed his body, with all the brilliance of a stellar furnace.  In his rage Luke was a world-devouring tempest, but Leia was a supernova, glorious in her devastation.

Sidious’ words replayed themselves in Anakin’s mind as a taunting sibilance.   _ Your dear sister...her grief shall stoke her hatred, and oh...she will make an exquisite apprentice _ .

There was no pride to savor or ambition to entertain in that possibility, only horror.

She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact -  _ stars _ , she was even smaller than Padmé - yet the vastness and weight of her presence belied her tiny, fragile form.  Through gritted teeth Leia hissed, “I should kill you where you stand for your presumption.  But no.   _ No _ .  If I have to lose my brother, then I’ll make sure you’re here to lose your son.”

And with that she turned and stalked away, both from him and those she loved still somewhere within sick bay, too enraged to be consoled or to contemplate her brother’s fate.

In the agonizing minutes in which Luke’s life had been in question, Anakin had wondered what purpose he would have to continue existing without his son.  He’d barely had time to process the realization that his child had been child _ ren _ , twins, and that of all people his daughter had been  _ Leia _ .  Now he had his answer.

If for nothing else, he could still live for her as well.  Never to gain her trust or her favor, much less her pardon.  But as long as his ailing vessel would allow him, he would strive to end the war and bring her some measure of peace for all that he’d stolen from her.  It was the least he could do.

Not as a servant, but as a helper, whether she accepted it or not.


End file.
